After
by Obi the Kid
Summary: Snippet of my new series called "After".  A string of non-chronological short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.
1. After

**Chapter Title**: After

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Niko

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Cal makes his first verbal communication with his brother. Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun

*All grammatical errors are my own. Please forgive them.*

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><p>I look at him; he looks away.<p>

I reach to touch him; he pulls back.

I talk to him; he flinches.

The temperature is too cold. The sun is too bright. The road noise is too loud.

He is nothing more than a fetal ball, cowering in the corner of the car seat, terrified of his own shadow.

The clothes he wears are mine. Wrinkled and worn, but necessary because the few items I have of his are inches too small for his no-longer-fourteen-year-old frame.

Two days was all he had been gone. But where he'd been during those two days, had aged him in years.

And now…after…

He won't speak. He won't eat. If not for the constant chattering of his teeth and his panicked rapid breathing, my brother would be nothing but absolute and distressed silence.

I would get him back, no matter how long the recovery. It was he and I against the world now. No longer stifled by a drunken-whore mother who spewed nothing by hate on her youngest son day after day for fourteen years. However far this old car would go, however long it could aid us in running, we would follow. Those things – those Grendels – they'd taken my brother once. Somehow, he'd returned.

We would keep moving, keep going until we'd lost them forever; hiding for the rest of our lives if needed. But no way in hell would I lose him again.

Driving for hours, I finally found a quiet rest-stop to park. It was shaded from the brightest of the sun and enough off the road to mute the worst of the traffic noise.

I tried talking to him again. Absolutely needing to make sure that at the very minimum, he recognized me. That, even he couldn't find words or accept the touch; he knew he was home – with me – and that those monsters couldn't hurt him anymore.

"We've stopped for a while, Cal. A rest stop just off the interstate. It's safe here. I took enough detours and back roads to have lost anything that may have been following us. It's just you and me now, little brother. I'll take care of you until you get better."

Aside from a temporary pause in the teeth chattering, there was no response.

"I'll keep you safe, little brother. I'll do whatever it takes to push myself; train myself in every nature of weapon I can get my hands on; do everything in my power to stay healthy and fit and…I'll keep you safe. I swear it."

The rapid breathing hitched slightly, but enough that I noticed. Cal's head didn't come up from the tucked position it was in, but I could see he was listening. That meant something.

No, not just something, it meant everything.

Doors locked, rest stop scanned and knife in hand, I rested my head against the back of the seat. I couldn't sleep – for more reasons than one. But I needed the respite, if only for a short time. Hours passed. I focused on the cars in the distance, speeding by, each a vehicle seated with a person on their way to living a life. Jobs, families, friends, gatherings. All those usual things that normal people do…whatever normal was.

My normal was the present. My entire life was right here in this car. My entire life was curled in the seat next to me, eyes lifted towards mine.

Cal was seeing me now, for the first time since coming home.

"It's me, little brother. You're safe."

Time passed again. The eye contact didn't. He continued watching me with eyes that revealed so many different emotions that it was impossible to count them all.

And when he finally spoke a word, voice rusty and low, it was the only word I'd expected. The word that for fourteen years had meant protection and security from the world that had tried so hard to reject him. The first word he'd ever said.

"Nik."

I closed my eyes at hearing the sound. That first word since his return…was everything. It was the whole damn world.

As a baby, a first word starts a child into a new realm of existence. Doors open. Life accelerates.

As a traumatized and tortured teenager, it was a single forward step into healing.

"Yes, Cal. It's me. I'm not leaving you, okay? Everything will be…"

The word came again; this time in the form of a question.

"Nik?"

"Here, Cal. I'm right here."

Another extended pause, then one last word.

"Okay."

The eye contact ended and he returned to his fetal corner.

As much as I wanted and needed to reach out for him – for myself as much as for him - to make absolute sure he understood that I was here, that he was protected…I didn't dare do it. Less than a day into this – only hours after he'd come home - there had to be trust before anything else.

There had always been a blanket trust between us. There always would be.

We left the rest stop two hours later. It was another day before Cal uttered another word. It was a week before he allowed me to touch him. Five days after that, he cried himself hoarse in my arms. Complete trust.

That promise I'd made long ago, holding him in my toddler arms as a screaming and crying newborn, was now, after the hell, wholly reaffirmed.

We _would _get through this. I _would_ get my brother back to what he used to be.

There was simply no other option.

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><p>The end.<p> 


	2. Something's Wrong

**Title**: Something's Wrong

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Niko

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Story from my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

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><p>"Nik, something's wrong."<p>

Cal.

Desperate and scared.

With three words, he sounded so much younger than his newly-turned sixteen years.

His shadowed form stood at the foot of my hotel bed. The flashing red glare of the outdoor vacancy sign illuminated his face every four seconds. The flickering muted color of the television cast light from behind.

Less than a year removed from Grendel Hell, he was only really starting to find himself again. It was only a week ago that he started sleeping _in_ his bed rather than under it. It wasn't like him to throw up a flare without there actually being a problem, so when he called my name, I jutted upright, pushed the comforter off and was at my brother's side in an instant.

"Cal?"

"Something's wrong, Nik."

As he began sliding to his knees from a standing position, I caught his arms and made sure his contact with the floor was a gentle one. I ran my hands over his head, face, arms and so on. No injuries that I could feel. No blood that I could touch.

"I can't feel anything, Cal. Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't know, just…something's wrong." His head landed with a solid thump against the footboard of my bed as he leaned heavy against it.

"Are you in pain? Does it hurt anywhere?"

Black hair fell over a pale face as his head slipped forward and bobbed briefly.

"Another nightmare?"

Another. I said it as if those dreams weren't commonplace or part of every single night of his life since coming home.

"Nik." The word was even more distressed this time. Whatever was wrong, it appeared to be in his mind, which was probably worse than a physical issue. At least the physical ones…those I could see.

I moved from my kneeling place and sat next to him against the bed. I put an arm around his tense shoulders. Touch. Cal allowed it now. At one point, I'd wondered if he ever would again - flinching at even the _thought_ of me putting a hand on him. Now though, and especially at certain times, he almost craved it.

At this moment, it was no exception. Cal leaned into me, his breathing sounding like a descent from a panic attack. I moved my hand to rest on the side of his head.

"Nik."

"Right here, little brother."

"Something's wrong," he repeated again.

"Everything's okay, Cal. You just had a bad dream. We're here in the hotel. The door is locked. I've got my katana right next to me. Anything that tries won't get a foot in the door. I'm okay. You're okay. Nothing's coming for us."

I glanced down at the unsteady hand that Cal had snagged onto my shirt then I scanned the dark room. Something _was_ wrong. Something was missing.

Missing from Cal's hand.

His combat knife. The new one I'd gotten him a month after he'd come back. He slept with it always. White knuckled. It wasn't in that hand though, not right now. Somehow, he must have dropped it as he slept. When he'd woken up, it was gone, but his soggy mind could only determine that something was wrong. It couldn't ascertain the _what_.

I pulled myself away from him momentarily and hunted around the floor next to his bed. There I found it, lying just under the end corner - the silver blade appearing and disappearing in the TV glow, just out of reach. Cal would have never have found it groping around in his sleep.

Returning to his side, I sat again, arm draping his shoulders. He fisted my shirt with his right hand. In his left, I settled the hilt of the knife and instantaneously he latched his fingers around until the grip was deathlike. My left hand stayed on his and the knife until a few minutes passed. The extreme intensity of the grip lessened just enough for me to know it was okay to release my own hold. The last thing I needed was Cal hurting _himself _while trying to protect himself from his own demons.

I didn't move from my space though. Neither did Cal. Instead, I glanced up and over to my right at the television to see the beginnings of an old _Sanford and Son_ rerun; an old man and his old pick-up truck, worn and battered – not much unlike my brother.

I feigned a small smile at the thought.

My bed comforter was hanging halfway off the bed, so I reached up and pulled it off and covered the two of us still prone on the hard carpeted – and uncomfortable - floor. Cal's head had again tipped forward, seemingly unbothered by the physical discomfort.

I nudged him. "It's better now, right?"

His head bobbed up and his gray eyes roamed around the room, confused and groggy.

"Why am I on the floor, Nik?"

"You lost your knife."

Head slid to the side to settle on my shoulder. "I did. S'okay now. You found it for me, didn't you?"

"I did."

A long pregnant pause followed – long enough so that I figured he'd fallen asleep. He hadn't.

"Nik?"

Still worried; still scared – but lesser of each.

"What's wrong, little brother?"

Knife hand resting in his lap, his other clenched to me, Cal was finally settling.

"Nothin's wrong, Nik. M'okay."

And for this single narrow moment of our lives, he was okay.

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><p><em>The End<em>


	3. I know You

**Chapter Title**: I Know You

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Cal

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

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><p>I see you.<p>

I know you.

Your words aren't always clear, but _you_ are. Needing to be close. Needing to touch.

Not yet. Please not yet.

I'm in here, but I'm buried and lost. I don't know up from down; in from out; good from bad. But I know you.

I know cold. I know fear. I know confusion. I know terror. I know those things that are scaring the hell out of me right now.

Then I know the one thing – the only thing - that I have to cling to. I know you.

Took me a bit to remember, but I do. You were there when they took me. You were there when I came back. You'll be there when I come all the way back. You'll be the _reason_ for it.

I need to show you that I remember you. But it's hard. So damn hard - seeing past the dark and evil that now resides permanently in my waking mind. I pull away and I flinch from you. From your attention. From your touch. But not by choice. Never by choice. Not with you.

The monsters, they took me from you. I came back and only you were there. It's only ever been you. You were the one person who loved me before, when I was simply tainted. Now that I am more of what they are - so much more…and you _still _love me.

I know you. I know who you are and what you are. I know that you won't ever give up on me.

Your hand is out now; reaching for me. And you wait to see if I flinch. To see if I reach back. I feel myself staring at the gesture. Fearful of it…and desperate for it.

I know you and I want to reach back. I want to grab your hand. Tug your shirt. I want to show you that I remember -that I remember who you are, even though I'm not completely sure who I am.

Cal. You call me Cal. You make sure that I know my name is Cal. It's who I am. It's who I need to be again. It's who you need me to be again. You, who I remember from my first memory ever. You, who raised me and taught me. You, who protected me and loved me.

You…now trying so hard to bring me back from the hell where I currently reside.

You, who will still protect me and love me, even if I never fully return from that hell.

I know you.

You're Nik.

You're my brother.

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><p>The end.<p> 


	4. Smile

**Title**: Smile

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Niko

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Story from my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

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><p>It came six months after.<p>

Six months to the day actually.

We were moving. Again. Trying to keep one step ahead.

I'd called for take-out at a nearby Denny's that offered curbside pick-up.

The bleached blonde-bee-hived, well-endowed, overly made-up, fifty-something woman who stepped toward the car with our order in the large white plastic bag was targeting me with her eyes the moment she saw me behind the wheel. As she got closer, I snuck a glance at Cal in the passenger seat. My brother had unclenched himself from the semi-fetal position to try and seem more like a passenger and less like a partially traumatized sixteen year old. He was only moderately successful, but it was good enough to fool the average person.

His gray eyes focused on me from under his long black bangs.

I held out the cash to the woman as she passed me the bag. "I'll get you some change, Sugar," she offered in her drawn South Carolina accent.

"No need."

"Thank you, Sugar." She leaned down to my open window. "Interesting car you have here. My husband can fix this for you. He specializes in rust work and…eliminating blue smoke from tailpipes."

I grinned and nodded my appreciation of her hatred for my car. "No, thank you. It runs. That's all I need at the moment."

She didn't give up yet. "Replace the interior vinyl, some new wheels, paint job. I'm not sure that classic beige is such a hot color these days, Sugar. And you look like a young man who should have a fine vehicle under his hands." Then she nodded towards Cal. "And your friend there, what kind of teenager in this day and age wants to be seen in something like this? Looks you stole it right off the lot of a 1970's cop show."

"We'll be fine. Thank you for the offer though."

"Sure thing, Sugar. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"I certainly do."

"Have a good day, Sugar!"

She bounced away. And I was grateful that it was just the car and not me that she seemed infatuated with. Too much unwanted attention; even if it was only from a normal human instead of a metal-toothed, red-eyed monster. It was attention we were trying to avoid.

I turned and handed the bag over to Cal who was still wondering at me through the dark hair. I made a face and shook my head. Then, as he caught my eyes, something happened…something that I thought I might never see again. On Cal's exhausted and vacant face, there began the slightest narrowing of his eyes and the upward curl of his lips.

And there it came…of all things not expected…a smile.

Six months removed from Grendel Hell, Cal had finally re-discovered something they'd taken from him.

It wasn't an extreme toothy grin, just a simple upturn and slight lightening of the heavy features of his face. But for me, it was enough. I smiled back.

"You find that funny? Some overdone, overstuffed, fifty year old woman insulting my car? I love this car."

His small grin didn't stop as he turned his head down to focus on the inner workings of the dinner bag.

I backed out of the parking spot and into another section of the lot to sit so we could eat. Cal set out my container and then his onto the car's bench seat. His smile was less now, but he was still finding the situation funny.

"She liked you, Nik."

"A little too…_mature_ for me, little brother. Eighteen dating fifty?"

"She liked you. Sugar."

"Alas, she did not appreciate my taste in automobiles. That is a definite deal breaker for me. Love me, love my car."

Cal shrugged. He talked more these days, but he'd stop on a dime and retreat back into himself just when you'd think he'd found a little piece of daylight. His smile melted and his face went neutral. A part of me was disappointed that the moment was so fleeting. But we'd made a breakthrough today. And while something as minute as a brief smile would have seemed simple to anyone else, to me, it was like a step onto the moon.

I didn't bring it up. I didn't want him self-conscious about something that may appear trivial on the outside. I hoped that my own smile in return was enough of an encouragement.

I did however have to make sure I pestered him about eating. He'd been having bouts of nausea again, which were most likely tied to the sudden increase in the intensity of his nightmares. It ran in unpredictable cycles and he was stuck in one of those cycles these last few days.

"Eat as much as you can, Cal."

He nodded his response. And he did eat. Every last bit of the pancakes and scrambled eggs. The fleeting smile though, was long past gone.

And that was okay. There was a time, many times honestly, when I was certain that I'd never see my little brother smile again.

I'd take this undersized victory and move forward from it. And one day in the near future – I knew for certain now - I'd have the whole of my little brother back with me.

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><p>The end<p> 


	5. A Good Day

**Title:** A Good Day

**Series Title**: After

**Author**: Obi the Kid

**POV:** Cal

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

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><p><em>This snippet was inspired by the singersongwriter Paul Thorn and his song "I Have a Good Day."_

"_I have a good day every now and then. I count my blessings on one hand. I start believing the sun will shine again. _

_I have a good day every now and then."_

* * *

><p>I was having a good day today. I'd slept the night without any sugarplum visions of red eyes and metal teeth dancing in my head. The town where we were currently hiding was non-intrusive. Meaning, for whatever reason, I didn't get gawked at every time Niko and I wandered into public viewing. I was a few days short of a year removed from my time in Grendel Hell. Niko's piece of shit car was still running, despite the blue smoke that fogged up half the state when the ignition was turned over. I had my own gun now. Two of them actually. And I was becoming an expert in the art of self-defense, or as I preferred to call it, self preservation ass-kicking.<p>

Most importantly, I had my sanity and I had my brother. All in all, I was surviving. At least for today. Tomorrow could be an entirely different story. These days I was more Jekyll and Hyde than Jekyll and Hyde were.

My good day soured a bit when Niko returned from his jog-slash-breakfast run. Some days he was more comfortable at leaving me alone for a short time. Other days, he wouldn't dare step foot outside the door unless I was strapped to his jacket. It really all depended on the previous night. My nights ruled my days. So, last night? A good night. Today would be a good day – I hoped.

I was at the kitchenette table when Nik dramatically stretched his way into the room. This whole fitness kick thing he'd been on since I'd come back - not that Nik wasn't into this crap before - but it had become obsessively extreme in these last twelve months. And now it had moved to his food. _Food_, of course, being a tentative term when you saw what the man ingested on a daily basis.

I leafed through the bag. "Where the hell are my pancakes and sausage biscuit and what the hell are you drinking?"

"I got you something better than those things and I got myself a wheatgrass-kelp smoothie."

My nightmares often had me up in the middle of the night crouched over a toilet and puking my guts out. The vomity-greenish sludge in the clear plastic cup sitting on the table in front of my brother was enough to almost drive me back to that toilet and send more guts flying.

"Nik, that is so wrong."

"Good, because here," another cup was presented, "I got you one too. And before you turn your nose up and start thinking nauseating thoughts, yours is not made of kelp. Fresh strawberries and bananas mixed with yogurt, fat free milk and only a sparse teaspoon of kelp. I spared you the soy. Drink it up."

I pushed the cup away. "No, I don't think so. I'm on a strict non-seaweed diet. This is not what I ordered. Where the hell is my grease, Cyrano? I'm having a good day here. Mind you, it's only a few hours into the day, but still - then you come home with this."

Since I was young enough to start causing problems, Niko, who not only raised me but was the one person in my life who actually gave a shit about me – and I was a handful from the initial wailing of my lungs – Niko became the most patient person on the planet. As our years went on, that patience etched deeper and deeper until he became the world's supreme leader in the art. Given the opportunity, Ghandi and Yoda would have sought _him_ out for advice.

I, however, often tested that patience.

And during my good days – and there were more of those in the last few months – Nik was pure big brother in every sense of the word, especially when it came to being patient with me. He did have limits, but they were difficult to find and even more difficult to push.

I, however, often pushed those limits. As I did now.

"I can't drink this, Nik. I can't."

"You can. It's loaded in sugar. Sugar is one of the two food groups that you eat from."

"They actually put sugar in this thing?"

"Not the processed, bleached and chemicalized sugar that you adore so much, no, that will kill you. I'm talking about the natural sugars from fresh fruits. You do remember fruits, right?"

"Fruit is not in my dietary plan. I'll pass."

"Yes, I can see you had a good night last night. You are very _you_ this morning."

"Sleep has always been my favorite thing in life."

He moved the cup towards me, I shoved it away again. "I can't drink it, Nik. Come on, didn't you get me anything else?"

"Yes. A donut, which you cannot have until you drink your smoothie."

Eat your fruit. Eat your veggies. Drink your seaweed. It was always something with my brother. Not that we had many fruits or veggies – and certainly no seaweed – when we were kids. But when we did, Nik made sure I ate them – despite my protests. He would often bribe me with a sweet treat to get me to eat the healthy stuff. Most of the time it was something as simple as a single generic Oreo cookie or a snack sized dollar-store candy bar, and more often than not, I would break the snack in half to give Niko a piece. Even as a child, I knew how much my brother gave and gave up when it came to me. So if giving up the non-creamy half of a small, nonspecific, chocolate cookie was anything to me, it was a big deal.

Nik gave up the world for me, I supposed the least I could do was drink a fruity-kelpy milk shake, right?

Damn it, I hate it when he wins.

But…there _was_ a donut at the end of the tunnel.

I drank the smoothie. His gray eyes followed mine as I peered at him from over top of the cup that was pulled to my face. I'm sure it was the wrong and mannerless way to drink one of these concoctions, but in no way was I about to turn into a complete girl and sip this vulgar thing through a straw. I'd down it as quickly as possible, get it over with and get to the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.

Okay, so the smoothie wasn't all that nasty and disgusting. I didn't feel one single twinge of near upchucking upon gulping it down. Nik noticed the same.

"Told you, little brother."

"Not horrible, Okay? Donut, please."

The second bag opened, a wax paper covered glazed piece of divine goodness made its way to me.

"And for being a good boy today…"

"Funny. Now cut the stand-up routine give me the damn prize." I held my hand out, awaiting my reward. Ecstasy awaited. I ate the ecstasy in two glorious bites. Niko pursed his lips at me and crossed his eyebrows – a feat humanly possible only in Niko's world.

"Glad you took the time to savior it, Cal. Good?"

"Good, doesn't describe it."

Niko snuck a devious grin at me. I hated that look. It meant only one thing…

"Then you'll be happy to know that the donut you just ate was completely animal, dairy and sugar free."

…that I'd just been suckered. I choked on the glaze that I was currently licking off my lips. "Excuse me?"

"And you would have never known if I hadn't told you. See, little brother. All that is healthy is not crap, as you would say."

I pouted. "It would have been crap if I'd known. Damn it, Nik!"

"We both need to be 100% on our toes, Cal. Eating better supports that idea. We cannot run if you are being dragged down by lard. It's only for your protection."

That was Nik. Even when it came to vegan donuts and seaweed laced shakes, part of it was always for the well being of his little brother. Either that or he just enjoyed torturing me, which was also a strong possibility.

"You always win, don't you? Fine. I'll eat something semi-healthy once in a while. Satisfied?"

"For now."

For now, meant no. The battle wasn't over, but it would have to wait for another time. I had a good night of sleep under me, I felt ready to take on the world today, or at least take on the town.

"Get dressed. I'm teaching four classes at the local dojo today. You are coming with."

I didn't argue. I hadn't once since I'd come back, not when it came to tagging along. I was feeling less like a tortured soul as the days and months passed, but I wasn't foolish enough to think I could survive without my lifeline. Left alone in the hotel room for hours and my mind had way too much time to itself. Too much time to think and reflect and _imagine_ things that were no longer there. After classes, I got my own version of what he'd been teaching that day, but between classes, Nik would home school me in whatever subject fancied him for the day, and as much as I despised my brain cells being used for text book learning, it was much healthier for them than allowing free roam of my brain.

All that being said I thought it best to plan for lunch. I _was_ all about the food after all.

"You're not taking me to that all you can eat wheat-germ place again for lunch, are you?"

"You found a pizza there to your liking."

"Nik, it was made with soy cheese, vegetarian pepperoni and wheat pita bread. I ate the sauce."

"As I recall, you _licked_ the sauce off of the crust. And as much as I am pleased and relieved to see you feeling more like your old self more of the time, I don't believe we should return to that restaurant. In fact, we may not even be welcomed there."

"Suits me. Making pizza out of soy and veggie crap is unsanctified. There, I even used one of the new big words you taught me last week."

A brief upward quirking of the lips was the only response I got, but it meant that my brother was happy. And, damn it, Nik deserved happy. I stopped talking and got dressed, following him out the door.

I had eight chapters of studying to do while he was teaching four classes of wanna-be ninjas, but my mind was focused on food. Funny how that was, when I first came back and for those first weeks – months – after, food was one of the last things I had wanted any part of. I don't remember the details of why, only that food was the enemy. Thankfully, that piece of me had returned in full force, which of course brought me to lunch. Nik had checked my school work between each class, and nodded his approval each time…except the last. All I got then was a swat on the head. It stung, but I knew the meaning behind it. Pride and annoyance all in one smack. Then, to my surprise, he treated me to a full-blown steak and cheese sub, complete with melted yellow cheese, fried onions and high fat, non-soy mayonnaise. He even sprang for an order of greasy fries.

Heaven. Pure, blissful heaven.

I didn't think I was fooling myself though. My good days weren't every day and for whatever reason, they were often followed by intensely crappy ones with nightmare filled nights, we both knew that. This was Nik's way of trying to make the most out of the little I had at the moment. Making a good day better by topping it off with a few of my favorite things. He of course, didn't have the steak and cheese, preferring a wheat pita pocket loaded with green and brown sprouts topped with tiny _droplets_ of oil and vinegar…Whatever weirdness got him through the day.

My good day ended with the two of us watching an old black and white movie in the hotel until my eyes gave way.

I turned on my left side, facing my brother, before giving in. He was still awake and I had absolutely no hesitation in believing that he would remain so all night. My good day was done. Nik would be ready for whatever waited for me on the other side.

* * *

><p>The end.<p> 


	6. Sanity is Overrated

**Title**: Sanity is Overrated

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Cal

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

* * *

><p>Sanity is overrated. It really is.<p>

I'm sane. I shouldn't be, but I am.

Of course I can only attribute that to one thing. One person really. My big brother, Niko.

He's been there from the beginning, but more importantly, he was there when I came back from Grendel Hell as a complete neurotic mess.

I'm better now. Changed forever, but better. At least that's what Niko tells me. He says that I'm still the most annoying pain-in-the-ass brother there's ever been, but that I am perfectly sane.

I believe him. I believe everything he tells me. But if this is sanity, I'm seriously considering opting out.

No sane person would ever voluntarily eat what was squirming on this plate in front of me. No way in hell. Sanity comes with a price. And the plate of greeny-browny things that Niko had shoved in front of me was an expense much too high for me.

"No, Nik," I said as I shook my head. "Not in this lifetime or any other. Or any of your lifetimes either. I don't eat worms or seaweed; I don't care how healthy you claim they are. Here, you can have mine." I pushed my dinner towards him. "Where's the grease and lard that I ordered?"

My brother didn't find me funny. Don't get me wrong, he was thrilled beyond belief that I'd come back to myself – or a snarkier version of myself – almost two years after Hell, but he still didn't find me the slightest bit humorous. I on the other hand, thought myself pretty damn funny. And it didn't really matter, because funny or not, I was _not_ eating…_that_.

He pressed the food back in my direction. "I am fine feeding you grease and lard, as nauseatingly artery-clogging as it may be, but every so often, you will eat something that actually is part of a food group. And those are not worms. Those are Chinese vegetarian noodles. The seaweed part you are correct about however. Well, technically it's kelp, but same family. Eat it."

"Nik…"

"Don't Nik me and don't whine. I didn't raise you from an infant just so you could moan about a little healthy eating. Here," he handed me a packet of soy sauce. "Put this on it." I grabbed the one packet and then the other fifteen as well. If I did have to eat this crap, I wasn't planning on having to taste it.

I wasn't done complaining, but I knew it wouldn't get me anywhere. Niko wasn't just a big brother protecting me anymore, no. Now he was training to become a full-on super-ninja. His collection of swords and knives was beginning to resemble a museum assembly. The swords went along with the extreme healthy eating and the meditation, yoga and martial arts kata crap he'd become so obsessed with since getting me back. I may not have said much or resembled anything more than a semi-responsive, terrified kid two years ago, but I remember Niko pushing himself to be better…to be the best…so that the Grendel never took me from him again.

The worms and seaweed were all part of that.

He did all of this for me.

And now that I had survived recovery and was firmly planted in the world of the sane, for my brother and for him alone I gagged down the food.

"There. Can I have grease now?"

Niko raised an eyebrow at me and actually picked up the plate to thoroughly examine it.

"Nik, there are no hidden compartments in paper plates. I ate it. You saw me. Can I at least have the fortune cookie that came with it?"

Relenting, he plucked the plastic-wrapped cookie in my direction.

Naturally, like we all do – even us monster babies – I pulled the small tag of paper out

first and read it as I munched on the snack. With a mouth full of cookie, I snorted and grumbled out, "Fanity if overweighed." Ha! Figure that one out, ninja-boy!

Niko reached across the table and whacked me on the head. He hadn't done that a lot – or at all – during my recovery. I'd missed it.

I didn't miss it anymore. Niko's slaps were like getting pelted with a close range BB-gun!

"I did not raise a Neanderthal. Don't talk with your mouth full. What's your fortune? And _swallow_ the cookie before you repeat it."

Did Nik believe in these things? I didn't think so. I know I didn't. This one though…it had me maybe second guessing that idea.

"It says 'sanity is overrated'."

Niko's reply? "Huh."

My reply? "Well, it is. Being sane isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Perhaps not, but," the mood dropped a notch and he leaned back to examine me, releasing a long breath. Then, "But I've seen you teetering on the edge of the other direction…"

I pursed my lips together and nodded; my semi-decent mood suddenly deflated by realism. "I know." I studied him back for a minute; gray eyes to gray eyes. No one has ever worked harder at anything in their lives than Niko did for me not only in the last couple of years, but in all of my sixteen or eighteen – however you wanted to count it. I may not have turned out exactly like he'd pictured, but he'd done his best. And it was more than enough.

"You did good by me, Nik. You know that, right? Whatever I am or will be; it'll never be your fault if I don't measure up…or if I fall. Maybe the Grendel will find us again. I don't know, but…"

His hard stare interrupted me as he said, "They are _not_ taking you from me again, Cal."

There was such passionate conviction behind his words and I wanted to believe them so badly…

"I know. But we don't know much about them really. So, we don't know what'll happen in the future. There's no way we can know everything. Except…just…you did good, all right? More than anyone else could have. It's okay if I fall on my ass once in a while."

"Just make sure they're not chasing us when it happens."

His cloudy eyes smiled, followed by a slight tilt of his lips. Best moment of the day. Lifting a microscopic bit of the heaviness off my brother's shoulders…if only for few fleeting seconds.

I cleaned up the dinner. I even washed out our glasses and picked up my jacket off the kitchen floor – shocking Nik in the process.

He still sat at the table when he disbelievingly said, "Huh. Maybe you're not so sane after all."

I brushed his shoulder with my arm as I passed from the kitchen towards the TV.

"I am what you raised me to be, Cyrano." My butt and the rest of me flopped onto the bed. I grabbed the remote. "Pat and Vanna or Alex?"

"Alex. A little trivia is good for the soul. And defeating you in Jeopardy is always enjoyable. Pay attention, little brother."

Pay attention; the Niko way of saying that he was turning Jeopardy into a weapon of mass learning…again. No doubt there would be a full blown test on _'What I learned on Jeopardy last night' _over breakfast tomorrowmorning.

Ah well, at least I had my sanity.

* * *

><p>The End.<p> 


	7. I'm Dreaming of a Post-Hell Christmas

**Chapter Title:** I'm Dreaming of a Post-Hell Christmas

**Series Title**: After

**Author**: Obi the Kid

**POV:** Cal

**Rating:** PG

**Series Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Chapter Summary**: Cal's first Christmas after returning from Grendel Hell.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

* * *

><p>We were five months out from Grendel Hell and settled in Buffalo, New York. Late December. Christmas. And plenty cold. Cal's been cold since he got back and certainly being in a town known for record snowfall each Winter wasn't helping.<p>

Having just returned from a nearby take-out place, I'd only recently gotten comfortable with leaving Cal alone for any length of time. Thankfully, as rancid as this current hotel was, its saving grace was that it had cable television and it kept my brother's mind occupied while I was out getting our meal.

"Cal. Dinner. Come eat."

He glanced towards me, holding a pillow to his chest. "After Lucy."

"You are not seriously watching another _I Love Lucy_ rerun, are you?"

"Marathon."

"Meaning that you've probably seen this episode twice already today. Come and eat, please."

"Not hungry."

"You are hungry and even if you aren't, I don't care. You need to eat."

"Can't."

I pulled the sandwiches out of the bag and set them on the table. "Why can't you eat?"

"Threw up lunch."

I let out a deep, knowing breath. "I know you did and it's all the more reason to eat dinner."

He shook his head and turned back to Lucy.

"Damn it, Cal," I barked as my hand smacked down on the cheap wooden table.

I didn't lose my cool often, especially in these last months, but I did this time. The last few days had been particularly difficult on many levels and even I had my limits. One button pushed too many, I guess. Stress will do that to the best of us.

Walking over to the bed, I grabbed his arm and pulled him – or tried to – off the bed and to the kitchenette. His resistance was impressive for a now sixteen year old weighing about twenty pounds less than he should. That old Cal stubbornness, so prevalent before Hell, had only strengthened in post-Hell.

He yanked his arm away and said a firm, "No!"

I grabbed him again.

This time he yelled it. "NO!"

Cal always enjoyed a good yell, but not generally in my direction. We had to fix this, and now. I couldn't take care of him with a wall between us and I felt one building. I released his arm and sat on my bed, opposite his. Several steadying and resolute breaths later, I found my center – calling on the slew of yoga and kata training I'd been devouring recently - and addressed him again.

"Cal, tell me what's going on."

His reply came with averted eyes. "Same shit, different day. Just leave me alone, Nik."

"Sorry, little brother, can't do that. Talk to me."

"Don't want to."

I frowned a sigh at the position that held me. Stuck. Seriously stuck. I risked pushing him away if I was too aggressive and that was something I could ill afford to do at this stage of the game. If I did nothing, if I let him have his way, that wasn't a conduit for recovery either. Curling into a fetal ball each tiny moment that life turned sideways, wasn't how Cal would become Cal again. Unfortunately there wasn't a self-help book for what to do when your little brother came back from Monster Hell. So, having regained my total composure and control, I talked a bit more – keeping it placid - trying to softly gnaw at the reason for his recession.

"Your dreams last night were more intense. You remembered something."

He shrugged at my statement. And if I knew my brother, that shrug was a yes.

"About the food again?"

Sans the shrug; this time, a shake of the head met my question.

"Punishment?"

Another shake. The pillow pulled tighter to him.

"Cal."

"Cold, okay?" He finally huffed out. "It was cold there."

"You remember more?"

"I remember the cold; just being cold all the time. It's cold here too."

Now we were on to something. Yesterday, we were several states south, and along with it, twenty degrees warmer. He'd been better during that time. Well, better being an operative term for his current state of mind. Today, the colder northeast and he'd changed; obscured memories being forced to the surface.

"It's cold here, Nik," he repeated again.

"We're in Buffalo. It's December, almost Christmas. We could go south again, but it's probably better if you deal with this rather than hide from it."

"Tired of moving. And I'm _not_ hiding."

He wasn't really, and he'd called me on it, for which I was glad to see a spark of fight in his muddled mind.

"No, I'm sorry, Cal. You're not hiding. You're just struggling with confused emotions and memories."

The pillow was clenched to his chest again when he finally looked at me. "Sorry for yelling."

"It's okay."

"No. Shouldn't yell at you. Never at you."

I pursed my lips and sat quietly for a long moment, deciding which way to go. What was best for my brother wasn't necessarily what he needed. Heading south again would help him, but we couldn't avoid cold weather for the rest of our lives, not with evil incarnate on our tail.

So, here I was. Stuck. Again.

Not knowing what else to do, I stayed silent. Briefly, as the quiet blanketed the room, I became lost in the black and white characters on the small TV screen. When the quiet was finally broken, it was Cal who did the breaking. This time, those steel gray eyes met my own.

"Nik?"

"Yes?"

"I'll eat. You do everything for me, the least I can do is eat."

"I just want you to be okay, little brother. You're still too thin."

"M'not okay."

"No, not yet, but you'll get there."

Finally, he released the pillow and the TV remote. After he got up, legs moving slowly from recent disuse, I pulled the blanket off my bed and wrapped it around him as he sat at the table. His shaking hands tugged it snug.

"S'better. Thanks."

I gave him one of my rare smiles and set his sandwich in front of him. "Burger. Extra cheese and lard. Just how you like it." The briefest hint of a grin peered back at me as he took a bite, then another.

I understood now. It was the cold that was triggering the recent change. This unsullied winter air we'd entered into had struck him so sharply that it upset the frantic balance he'd found in recent weeks. Small flashes of a

cold, evil hell had risen up enough to cause the nausea and the downturn in mood. Intense anxiety triggers the stomach to flip over and out came an undigested lunch.

Triggers were funny things, especially when it came to emotional and physical traumas.

He ate the entire burger and half of the fries, also downing his coke in the process. Disgusting and toxic, but good nevertheless. I was pleased. He even seemed a bit brighter afterwards.

"Good burger. We should eat there again."

"The veggie burger leaves a lot to be desired."

"That's because it's a _veggie_ burger."

I smiled again, two times in less than two minutes. Probably a new record for me. He'd earned it though. _That_ had been a Cal remark if I'd ever heard one. And I've heard plenty. He'd surprised me. And if you knew me, that wasn't an easy task to accomplish.

He surprised me again with his next comment.

"We should get a Christmas tree."

"We should, what?"

"A tree, like when we were kids."

"Cal, those things we had at Christmas were not trees. I cut pieces off the neighbor's bushes, tied them together and stuck them in a wooden bucket. Then you hung your old empty cookie wrappers as ornaments, which of course finally explained why you ever refused to throw them away.

The words easily brought those particular memories back. We'd had so few good memories as kids that I'd always made a point to hang onto the ones that had actually meant something. Sofia was always gone on Christmas. Off selling herself or drinking herself under a bus. It was just Cal and I on Christmas Eve and morning. I made sure I always had gifts for him. They were cheap dollar store or yard sale things, but it was all I could do. I had to do it. He was a kid. Kids deserve Christmas.

"Please, Nik."

"Okay," I relented. "You want a tree or you want me to go cut up some bushes?"

"Just like when we were kids."

"Bushes it is then. I'll figure it out tomorrow. How's your stomach?"

He rubbed at it through the blanket. "S'good."

I flipped the subject back, trying to take advantage of his upturn in mood since eating.

"You remember anything other than the cold?"

"Just flashes I don't understand. Don't want to. Maybe I'll never remember."

I could only hope we'd be so lucky. "Maybe so. You want to try sleeping on _top_ of the bed tonight?"

The hollow look told me all it needed to. "Sorry. I had to ask."

Two days later, Christmas Eve, and I set a small pile of shrub pieces into an old beat up wooden bucket. A dollar store string of colored lights finished the deed, along with a couple of empty snack wrappers – doubling as ornaments - from the vending machine outside. Once Cal was asleep, I'd sneak his gift out and set it next to the bucket. Tradition would stay alive. Not once in my life had I forgotten my brother on Christmas, no matter our situation. There would always be a gift under the tree – or next to the bucket.

I got on my knees and lowered to my stomach to stick my head under Cal's bed. He was tucked in, but not sleeping, as there was a pillow clutched in one hand, combat knife in the other. From his position, he could look right out the other side and see the makeshift tree sitting next to the TV stand.

"How'd I do, little brother?"

No words followed, but he took his pillow-gripped hand and reached it out to me. I held it hard for a short minute before letting go.

"See you in the morning."

There I went being hopeful again; hopeful that he'd sleep through the night. He wouldn't. And that was our reality now; a reality that may never change, no matter my best efforts to the contrary. Those best efforts had me crawling under the bed when Cal's nightmares decided that this Christmas Eve would not be a placid one.

Christmas morning and my shoulders and back ached. Even the most physically fit body was not designed to sleep on a hard carpet floor under a contemptible hotel bed. The smells alone were enough to bring pain. I kept still though, despite the discomfort. Cal had finally found quiet about 3AM. Now, almost four hours later, his back remained still against mine. I'd suffer the physical uneasiness as long as needed for my brother.

That suffering though didn't last too much longer. Another twenty minutes and I felt his shoulder nudge back against my own.

"Nik?"

"Right here."

"Our tree fell over. And the lights went out. And the ornaments fell off."

"Cheap lights. I suppose it was asking a lot of them to stay lit for a full twenty-four hours."

"That's our luck."

"So it is. Merry Christmas, Cal."

"We made it to another one, huh? My first post-Hell Christmas."

"If it means you're alive, I'll accept it. Get up. You have to open your present."

We slid from under the bed frame. I stretched long and hard; my body grateful to be vertical. Cal eyed the newspaper-wrapped box sitting next to the tipped bucket. Surprisingly, he didn't pick up the gift immediately as he would of in the past. Instead, he lifted the bucket and set it back into position, situating the branches for stability and replacing the snack wrapper ornaments. The lights however, showed no sign of resurgence. A dollar didn't buy much in the way of quality these days.

Now, box in hand, Cal sat on the edge of my bed, running a finger along the frayed perimeter of the newspaper. The motion stopped long enough for him to look over at me, standing several feet away.

"More proof that the whole Santa thing is just a flap of lies, huh?"

"Cal, you stopped believing in Santa a long time ago."

"Because every Christmas morning…a box for Cal. No box for Niko. You used to be a kid, Nik. All kids deserve Christmas." I smiled briefly, having thought the same exact thing not long ago. Cal continued. "You – _especially_ you - deserved Christmas."

I shrugged. "I'll live. Open the box." He pulled out the knife. "It's a Cold Steel Double Agent I Karambit, 3 inch plain blade with the grivory grip. It's in the category of what's called a Neck Knife. Easy to conceal under a shirt or jacket. Less obvious for those certain _discreet_ situations. You'll get the lesson soon enough." The last few words I'd finished as I took a spot next to him on the bed. Cal suddenly had a childlike look of sadness come across his haunted sixteen year old face. The knife set horizontally in his lap. His shoulders fell as I draped an arm around them.

"You don't like it?"

"I love it. It's just…our lives, Nik. Deadly weapons for Christmas. A bucket of bush branches with candy bar wrappers and dollar store lights as a tree. Sleeping under hotel beds. Who lives like this?"

"We do, and if it keeps you alive, it's what we'll continue to do."

"That's a strange definition of living you have, Nik. And you still don't get Christmas presents."

"You're alive, Cal. It's all I ask for."

"That's very soap opera-y of you, big brother, but one day, you'll get that present and it'll be under an actual tree wrapped in actual wrapping paper with lights that stay on for more than a day and ornaments made of something more than cellophane."

"That's a long sentence for you, little brother."

"I mean it."

I patted his shoulder and tugged him close. "I know you do. Until then, how about we celebrate Christmas with breakfast? Pancakes; smothered in all things sugar and lard. How about a trip _inside_ the local diner?"

It was a shot. Cal still wasn't much for being in public places, but he'd been working hard recently on combating that fear. I wasn't surprised that he said yes. Christmas morning, the local diner would be a quiet and warm place to spend an hour or three.

"Good. Go clean up. A shower would be a fine idea too. You smell like hotel carpet."

Standing and shivering slightly, he pulled a clean change of clothes from his duffel and moved to the bathroom; physical presence echoing his general mood of blah. "Use hot water, Cal. It'll chase away the cold for a while."

In the doorway of the bathroom, he stopped and turned; first eying the bush-bucket tree before turning his identical gray eyes to mine. Eyes that held a haunting only Cal could know; but that also allowed him to see that he wasn't in this hell alone. And he never would be.

"Go on, Cal. I'll be right out here."

"Yeah," he replied with a tinge of relief in his voice. He followed it quickly with a, "Merry Christmas, Nik."

I smiled. "Merry Christmas, little brother."

Finally he disappeared into the bathroom, only to poke his head back out again. "You promise about the pancakes?"

"Have I ever lied to you?"

There was a small, but firm shake of his head. "Not once. Not ever."

"Count on that, Cal."

"I do, Nik. I always do."

The pancakes were of the stomach rotting variety, but it was the most agreeable meal Cal had engaged in since he'd returned. He battled his demons the entire time we were in the diner, but he managed.

Another Christmas morning had come and gone. Not one of them had ever been traditional in the way that most families know. None of them had ever been filled with joy or wonder – the both of us had been robbed of those emotions the moment upon entering this world. In the end, it didn't matter. We couldn't miss what we'd never had. The only constant we'd ever had on Christmas – and on every other day of our lives - was each other.

To be honest, it's the only thing we'd really ever needed.

* * *

><p>The End<p> 


	8. Name

**Chapter Title:** Name

**Series Title**: After

**Author**: Obi the Kid

**POV:** Cal

**Rating:** PG

**Series Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _non-chronological_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Chapter Summary**: Soon after Tumulus, Cal comes to terms with the fact that he is indeed, a monster.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

* * *

><p>I know my name. My true name. It's what I am now. I've been to hell. I've changed forever. Sophia was right all along. I am Caliban. As I've always been. Niko was wrong. For once in his life, he was wrong.<p>

My name is Caliban. Grendel. Monster. Abomination. Caliban.

There's a touch to my shoulder. Heavy. Profound. Supporting. Niko.

But I am no longer what he wants me to be. I can't be the little brother he needs so badly. I can't be 'Cal' to him anymore. I saw things. I did things. I was forced to do things and I had things forced on me. I remember things. I don't remember things. I feel everything. I feel nothing. I feel the weight of hell. I feel the weight of what I was born to be. What I am becoming. Caliban.

That same hand moves from my shoulder to my arm. The touch is light now. Inquiring. Concerned. Niko is searching for his brother. Searching for Cal. But all I can offer is Caliban.

Before…before, I was only a monster in theory. Half of one; but always that half hidden and secure. Protected and restrained. Unrealized. Now…after…I am what my Grendel family hoped I would be.

My name is Caliban. Grendel. Monster. Abomination. Caliban.

Now the hand pushes me down onto softness. Gentle is the motion. Caring. Compassionate.

That's not what I am. Those things aren't meant for me. What I am, I don't deserve what Niko gives. I have hate. I have rage. I am the nightmare that has haunted my dreams since the moment I was born.

My name is Caliban. Grendel. Monster. Abomination. Caliban.

The hand that has directed me settles on my head, stroking soothingly, like when I was a child. Like when I was 'Cal' and I was scared or hurt, or after I'd had a nightmare.

I am that nightmare now. I live as one…and I hurt. And I am terrified. My name is…Caliban. Grendel. Monster. Abomin…

The hand still caresses as Niko's voice follows. The voice that I know better than any other…reassuring.

"Cal. I'm here. You can let go now."

No.

No. No. No. No! Monsters don't give in. Monsters don't cry. Monsters don't need. Monsters…like me. Caliban.

That same stubborn hand cups the back of my head and pulls me inward. My breath falls on Niko's shirt. I close my eyes against the hurt and the fear. My name is Caliban. Grendel. Monster…

"I'll take care of you, Cal."

Caliban.

"You're safe now. I promise."

My name is…

"It's okay to let go, little brother. I'm here."

Here. Niko. Safe.

Let go…

My name…

"I've got you, Cal."

Cal. My name is Cal. Niko is here. He will help me to not hurt. He will help me to not be afraid. He will help me to not be Caliban.

His hand doesn't waver and I remain leaning into his chest. Monsters don't hurt. _I hurt. _Monsters don't fear. _I am terrified._ Monsters don't cry. _I cried._

Niko moved from in front of me to my side. The hand became an arm, became two arms. I slunk boneless into the embrace.

My brother, he wouldn't…if I was a monster…he wouldn't stay with me. He wouldn't protect me. He wouldn't love me.

"I've got you, Cal."

Cal. My name is Cal.

Hurt. Scared.

Needed. Loved.

Niko is here.

I am not a monster. I am not an abomination.

My name is Cal.

* * *

><p><em>The End.<em>


	9. Shoes

**Title**: Shoes

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Cal

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

* * *

><p>"Cal, sit still for me. You did a lot of damage to your feet, little brother. I'll fix you up, but I need you to keep still."<p>

I grunted or moaned or something. It was a sound of some sort. I understood most of what Niko just said, but some words sound foreign. I'm shaking all over. I'm still cold. Always so cold. And my bare feet – I can't tolerate wearing shoes since I've come back - I'd kicked out the car window. I couldn't work the door handle. Felt trapped. Alone. I got freaked out. Then Niko came back and now…now we are here. The hotel. But I'm still cold. And I'm still terrified of nothing and everything.

"Nik."

I didn't have to say anything more than his name. He heard my need. He knew. He always knew me better than I did, even now after I'd come back so changed. The chattering of my teeth helped get the point across as well.

"I'll turn the heat up."

He did. Put a blanket around me too. My feet hurt. Bloody. I need to stop letting panic take my mind. Niko said he would come back. He'd promised. Niko doesn't break promises. Not ever. But I kicked the glass anyway because I couldn't get out to him. Shattered it into hundreds of small pointy shards. And now my brother has to patch me up…again. Always, Niko has to fix me.

"Cal. This will take a while. You've got a lot of glass pieces embedded into your skin. Be patient with me. And keep the pillow close." The one he'd put in my lap for me to hold onto if the pain got bad. "You tell me if you need me to stop."

Another grunt. I'm not much for speaking right now. Don't need to anyway. Nik will understand.

He talked to me as he fixed my feet. I guess he figured it was his way of making it less painful. His voice was calming. And he never chastised me for still refusing to wear shoes. I didn't want them on. He allowed it. To help me. Niko tries so hard to take care of me.

I feel tired in between the hurting. I feel like no kid should ever feel. Like no person ever should. I feel…confused and scared and angry and damaged and useless. I feel like a burden to my brother. I shouldn't have kicked that window. No without shoes, anyway.

There was sudden, sharp pain. My feet flinched and Nik caught one of them. His hands are warm and it feels good on my icy skin.

"Keep still, little brother. Let me finish."

Always, he calls me that. Little brother. Nik's way of saying that he loves me without the mushy words. Not sure how anyone can love what I am. I don't. It terrifies me.

Emotions are coming now as he fixes my feet. I let them come. I let them take me. Suddenly, I feel pity for myself and unexpectedly I reach out to touch the top of Niko's head. The blond hair is long and familiar. He stops to look at me. Our eyes – gray. Gray means family. My hand falls onto his shoulder and I force a few voice-cracked words from my sparsely used voice.

"Sorry. Always…taking care of me."

"It's what we do, Cal. Look after each other. We're all we have. And don't apologize for this. I shouldn't have left you. I knew better."

No. Niko can't blame himself. I just have to try and get better.

"Get better. Promise."

"I know you will, Cal."

I shivered with cold again. Niko turned the temperature up again. It's warm for him. I can see beads of sweat on his temple. He copes though. For me. His whole life he lives for me. I don't deserve it. And then I'll grow up to be a monster. Will Niko still love me then?

"Nik?"

He stopped his work once more to look at me. I heard my voice break on his name. I feel the crashing now. Everything feels heavy. Emotions overwhelm. I hate myself. I hate me. I hate my monster. I hate everything that I am, except for one. I'm Niko's brother. No one could hate that. The rest of me though…I hugged the pillow.

Niko quickly finished the bandage and sat next to me. I leaned into him. It's his touch only that I can stand. My face clenches and my eyes water over. I can't stop the crying. Niko, he stays with me. No matter what I am. No matter what I will be. He stays.

"I've got you, little brother."

He hugged me tight for a long time; until I got quiet again. Then he finished my feet.

And a little while later? "All done, Cal. And once the worst heals, I want you to start wearing your shoes. Don't you think it's time you start wearing them again?"

I shrugged. I didn't know. Then I nodded. He can look after me better if my feet are protected. Shoes will make it easier for my brother. But still…

"No."

He didn't flinch. Niko never flinches; though he still asked the question. "Why not?"

"Monsters don't wear shoes," I said abruptly.

"Stop it, Cal." The reply was immediate, potent and somehow soothing all at once. Impossible for anyone but my brother.

Niko hated when I called myself a monster. Tried to convince me I wasn't. Monsters are real though. I was in their hell. I don't remember much of it, but I feel it without memory. Maybe…maybe shoes will help.

I looked down at the white-bandaged feet and sighed heavily. They looked like mummy feet. Mummy feet. That might be funny at some point in my life. But I'd forgotten how to laugh; to smile. Maybe I'd never remember how to do those things again.

Niko helped me sit back on the bed, propped me up and put the TV remote in my hand.

"Lucy's probably on," he said softly.

My fingers couldn't work the small buttons and I let it fall from my hand. Niko didn't let that go. Something so simple, if I couldn't operate a TV... He put the remote back into my hand and held my fingers still – they were wobbly – as I found a channel to watch. Nik was right. Lucy was on. Nik was always right. And he said I would get better. He said I wasn't a monster. He said he would always take care of me. He said that he would fix me.

But right now, I'm not better. I feel like glass. Like the window that was so easily shattered and broken. I'm broken. I'm shattered. Anyone can see through me. See how scared I am. How angry I am. See how much I want to die to make it go away.

Nik won't let me die though. He would die too then. I can't let that happen. My brother is a good man. The _best_ man. I'll get better because of him. He tells me that. I believe him. He's my brother.

I'll get better.

I'm not a monster.

Everything will be okay.

Niko says so. He's not like me. He's not a monster. But he loves me anyway.

Niko will fix me. He always does. But I can help him now. I can be stronger. I can find my way back to what I used to be…before. And I know how to start too. I know it now after watching my brother patch me up. I know how to start to find me again. One step. One step to start me on my way back. To help make it easier for Niko to take care of me until I can take care of myself.

I stare again at my bandaged feet.

Shoes.

When my feet get better, I'll put my shoes on.

I'll do that…for Nik.

For Nik, I'd do anything.

* * *

><p><em>The end.<em>


	10. Baseball

**Title**: Baseball

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Niko

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Chapter Summary**: Seven months after Tumulus, the boys find a small patch of normal.

**Series Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

* * *

><p>Saturday. Spring. Kentucky. Some off-center town in the southwest corner of the state. It was warm. A little too warm for May, but Cal found it comforting and that was all that mattered. Seemed like a place to set up residence for a bit. No Grendel sightings in three weeks. That had to be a positive. Cal was talking more, but still quiet. Still not the little brother I knew from…before.<p>

There was a small town little league baseball game nearby. I could hear the pop of the ball off the wooden bat and the enthusiastic cheers and claps that followed. We ventured toward rather than away from the event. Unusual for us. Cal wasn't one for crowds or people in general, other than me. He followed though. It helped that the sun was out bright and warming his ever-cold inner and outer self.

As crowds went, it wasn't a large one. We sat far enough away from the others, for a Cal-safe distance, but close enough not to raise any eyebrows. Fitting in was never our strong point. We never looked like the town we were in, but I was friendly with the locals and if anyone asked about Cal, I just told them he was sickly. It was sufficient for most to not consider us suspicious enough to call the police.

I sat cross-legged on the lush green grass. Cal did the same, keeping his shoulder within a whispered touch of my own. Trusting only one. Trusting only me.

"Feels good, doesn't it, Cal?"

"Warm," was his brief response; his overlarge sunglasses protecting his eyes from the still-harsh glare of being 'home'.

Not far away, a couple of parents were manning a grill, selling hot dogs and snacks for 50 cents each. I didn't dare offer Cal a hot dog. Although he'd treasured them as a kid, since he'd come back…meat of any type was off limits. Just seeing it near him on a plate would have him gagging or worse. But we'd had a long day and hadn't eaten since breakfast. Cal remained thinner than he should be. He'd picked up some weight in these last seven months, but not enough to make me not worry.

"You want chips and a soda?" Fattening and sugary. Two of his favorite things. And most importantly, meatless. He nodded.

"Yeah, maybe so."

He started up after me, but I set a soft hand on his shoulder. "Stay here, Cal. It's safe. You'll see me the entire time."

Detaching himself from my side was an almost impossible task since I'd gotten him back. That was fine with me. I'd lost him once, I didn't intend on doing so again. But at some point, he would need to do things on his own. He hated being left alone, but in the last month, I'd been working steadily to encourage him to do so, in the right circumstances.

Now was one of those circumstances.

There came another nod and he sat back down in the grass and picked at it, pulling a blade out and then splitting it down the middle; anything to keep his mind off the fact that that I was going away; even for only a moment or two.

Cal's days ranged from horrible to bad to decent to good and all things in between. On the worst of his days, he stayed curled in bed and growled at me when I tried to get him out. _Bad_ days were filled with an unhealthy combination of anger, rage and frustration. Never were those emotions intentionally aimed in my direction, but those types of days often times followed his nightmare filled nights.

_Decent_days on the other hand, consisted mostly of a quiet, submissive Cal. He'd follow me, ask simple questions about everyday things and then get upset for asking them.

_Good _days were like today. They held signs of the old Cal and his willingness to try things that I'd asked of him, such as staying put while I walked 30 feet away to get him a bag of chips and a can of soda. I did well to encourage _this_ Cal.

I gave the lady at the stand an extra couple of dollars to support the home team. Not because I had money filling my pockets, but it helped to keep us off of the 'creepy guy and his creepier brother' list. Though rare, my best smile was given, my most sincere manners at the forefront. She smiled back, energetically thanking me for the donation and for coming out to support the teams, and let me on my way.

By the time I got back to my brother, Cal had shredded twenty two pieces of grass and had laid them out in symmetrical piles of four pieces each. Perhaps my need for structure and neatness was finally wearing off on him.

I knelt down and handed him the snacks. "Some of those horrendous sour cream and onion chips you love so much, Oreos and a Coke. Good?"

"What'd you get?"

"Pretzels and a bottle of water."

"Closest thing to health food, huh?"

I held up the small bag of Snyder's pretzels. They weren't my usual fair, but they'd suffice this time. Since the life changing event that was Junior when I was fifteen, I'd vowed to do everything in my power to make myself as strong and healthy as I could; to keep Cal safe. Changing my eating habits wasn't all that difficult, especially after reading the ingredients in some of what passed for food in society today. I made no attempt to change Cal's diet. He deserved what made him happy, and until the Grendel had taken him, food was a priority in his life. It would one day be again…and once he made a full recovery, I'd feed him chemically-glazed, over-processed snack foods for the rest of his life if it meant my brother was safe and well.

I looked at his sunglass-tinted eyes as he crunched a chip. Even though the shades I could see…Cal was tired. I could see it in the way he ate and in the slump of his shoulders.

I brushed against him. "We'll go job hunting tomorrow. This place isn't far from two bigger cities. I'm sure there are dojo's around or perhaps some tutoring jobs at the local schools. The motel we found is good enough, right?"

He shrugged. "It's okay. Stinks though."

"We can find another one."

"S'okay, Nik. You cleaned it up good."

I had. Bleach was a constant, stored in the trunk of my car. I cleaned the bathroom, kitchen and under Cal's bed at each and every hotel we'd stayed. Small things, but it helped him. But nothing got past Cal's sense of smell. If he said the place stunk, then it did.

"We can move, Cal. There are plenty of places with rooms."

"Not for the price we can afford. M'okay. We can stay."

The solid crack of the wood bat pulled my attention away from the motel talk. The hitter, a small boy, hustled his way to first base, helmet flying off midway through his determined hard-running white-lined journey down the baseline. His hair was dark. Black. A young Cal. In another life. One I could only dream of. A life of normalcy where Cal ran bases instead of running for his life.

I lost myself in thought, until a nudge to my shoulder snapped me back.

"Nik?"

"Huh? What, Cal?"

"I said we can stay at the motel you found."

I nudged back watching the small dark-haired boy steal second and then kick at the base after he got tagged out. It made me smile ever so briefly. Yeah. That could be my little brother out there.

But it wasn't and this wasn't our life, though we could still enjoy it if only for a moment.

"You're a good brother, Cal," I finally said to him. "We should go. You're tired and I'm hungry." I eyed the half eaten bag of pretzels in my lap.

"No, Nik. Let's stay. Finish watching the game."

That was an unexpected surprise. I carefully tried to encourage it. "You sure?"

"You spend a lot of time in filthy motel rooms for me. I can do this for you."

Hell, yes, he was a good brother. And I dared anyone to challenge me on it.

"Okay then, little brother. Baseball it is. Maybe we'll like this place enough to stick around for a bit, huh?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, then, "Depends."

I knew the meaning there. And I knew he was right. If the Grendel found us, we'd leave. We couldn't put anyone else in danger and I wasn't about to let them anywhere near Cal ever again. For now though, we were here and here was good.

Here was beautiful weather and good people.

Here was sitting in the soft green grass with the only person in the world who mattered to me and getting lost in a small-town baseball game.

With Cal leaning slightly into my shoulder, we sat together, Oreos and pretzels in hand, watching the last few innings. It was perhaps as normal a day as we'd ever hope to find.

* * *

><p>The End<p> 


	11. Against

**Title**: Against

**Series Title:** After

**POV:** Niko

**Author:** Obi the Kid

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Snippet of my "After" series. A string of _**non-chronological**_ short stories that focus on the 1-2 years after Cal returned from Tumulus.

**Chapter Summary**:

**Disclaimer**: All hail Rob Thurman! No profit here, I'm just having fun.

* * *

><p>He'd seen it. I knew he had even before he reacted. A grendel. Moving with incredible speed along the rooftops of old row houses we were driving past. I'd been looking for something deserted so we could house up for a night. Three nights in a row of sleeping in the car wasn't doing either of us a bit of good, mentally or physically; and here we were two months in…two months after...and Cal was still struggling to find himself and to make sense of the world.<p>

He'd found me. I made sense to him. He'd allow me and me alone to touch him and when he did talk, it was only to me. There was a fragility to him that scared the hell out of me and seeing one of the creatures that took him and did God knew what to him for two years of his life…I had no idea what to expect.

But I should have known. I should have expected. Cal ran. Unlocking the car door, he pushed it open and tumbled out. Quickly on his bare feet, he just ran. To where, who knew? Even he probably didn't know…all he did know was that they weren't taking him again. If he could, he'd run until his legs fell off. That wouldn't happen though. I was several times faster than Cal; long legs, trained muscles. And I had motivated myself to become a runner. I ran any chance I got. Mostly at any indoor gym I could find during quiet hours, when Cal could stay within eyesight. I'd dedicated every single aspect of my life to making myself better, stronger, healthier…to keep Cal alive. And because of that, I didn't have much trouble catching up to him.

Stopping him was another story.

He panicked and flailed out at me, pulling his knife from his coat and swiping it in my direction. Growling as another slash came and another…and then…and then it all stopped. The knife fell and Cal bent to his knees, pressing his hands to his face. Realizing what he'd done…pulled a knife on 'Nik'. 'Nik' - the only constant in his world of chaos.

His unsteady right hand reached for my coat and pulled me down toward him.

"Nik."

I pulled his other hand away from his face and cupped both in my own. "You're sorry. I know, Cal. It's okay. You're still getting better. You make mistakes. Sometimes it's how we have to do things to survive." Glancing around, I no longer saw any sign of the pale creature on top of the houses. I suppose it had seen what it needed to. It saw enough. That Cal was alive. Then it vanished into the hole in the world….the one of its own making.

We had to move and I softly took Cal's arm and got him to his feet. Another night in the car wouldn't do. Not tonight.

"We'll find a hotel, Cal. It won't be a nice place, we can't afford that, but it'll have a spot for you to rest."

"Nik."

I walked him to the car and sat him down on the bench seat; kneeling in front of him. My hands hurt; crushed in his grip; refusing to let go. His knife though, it was safely tucked away where he couldn't reach it. I'd return it to him, but only after I knew he was able to wield it again.

When his right hand finally released, it moved to my face, squeezing my jaw and eventually finding white-knuckle purchase in a desperate grasp of my shirt collar.

Several minutes passed before I was able to disengage his hold, and once I did, I wrapped him in my arms, pulling him out of the car and onto the ground where I had been kneeling. Secured then, he let go. The tension released and he tucked into my hold, much like he used to when he was small and scared.

He was older now, my brother, but things were no less terrifying for him.

Nor were they for me.

I still needed to get him away from here. To a hotel. To someplace out of the way. Out of the peering eyes of the Grendel; but I didn't dare move him. Not now. Not after he'd just given his every ounce of his complete trust to me by letting go of his panicked need to run. I couldn't move him; couldn't force him into another repulsive hotel room. Not after this.

The car. At least I could get him into the car. Not much safer than outside the car, but it would have to do. Again.

My chin resting on the top of his head, I stumbled out the words, doing my best to keep the fear out of my voice. "Cal, can you stand with me, little brother? Just for a minute to get you in the car." The vice-like grip on me tripled. "Not leaving you, Cal. I swear."

He wouldn't stand. Didn't give the slightest indication of a willingness to move his legs, so I improvised and lifted him into my arms as I stood; one arm around his back, the other under his knees. Cal had grown several inches, but he weighed nothing. I handled him without much difficulty and moved around the car. Awkwardly, I slid the both of us as one in through the driver's side, pulled both doors shut and allowed Cal to reestablish his semi-fetal position against me. Not all that simple on the car's bench seat, but we made it work and there we stayed. I notched the radio on to a 70's station. Cal always gave me a hard time about my love for that particular decade's music, but it was easy on the ears and relatively harmless. It's what we needed.

I kept watch. Stayed awake the night; knife within inches of my grasp. To my surprise,

Cal slept in my arms. Not soundly, but enough. By daybreak however, I was feeling the effects of the stress and exhaustion of another string of sleepless hours. There'd been many of those in the last two months and I didn't know how long I could keep the pace. Cal needed me. Trusted only me. I was the only one who would get him through this hell. And if I let him down, he'd never be what he once was. He'd never find himself again. This was on me. All of it. I couldn't stop them from taking him before. I would stop them from taking him again. And I would get him better. No matter the cost, no matter what I had to give up. This was my little brother. This was all that mattered.

Cal moved in my arms and without seeing his face, I knew he'd opened his eyes. His left hand found the wrist cuff on my jacket and fingers played with a loose thread. With a sleepy hoarse voice, he asked, "Motel?"

"No, Cal. We stayed here in the car last night. I kept watch."

"Oh."

The loose thread, previously an inch long, quickly ran to four or five as Cal's fiddling continued.

"Keep that up and the arm on my jacket will fall off," I said softly.

The fiddling kept on and he still made no attempt to move from my hold.

He was comfortable there. Safe.

A song by Bob Seger brushed onto the radio.

The fiddling stopped. Cal's hand stilled on my wrist. "Like this one," he whispered. The song, he meant. _Against the Wind_, I think the title was. It flowed simple and easy. Two things our lives had never been. A three minute escape from our world. "It's like us," Cal finished.

I offered an inner smile that he couldn't see, but he knew was there, and said, "We're up against more than the wind, little brother."

Cal's eyes closed once more. Unseen, but I knew. "Yeah." Was all he replied with, verbally. Physically, he pressed closer to me. The loose thread found again.

"Yeah," I responded back, simply. Cal didn't want nor need a lot of words since he'd returned from Grendel Hell. Actions spoke, words were just clutter to his already disordered mind. He tolerated them, for me. And I made the effort to keep them to a minimum.

He found an easy breathing rhythm. I found the same as the song rounded to an end. Mentally, I prepared myself for what was to come from Cal once his need for touch wore off. Rage. Anger. Withdrawal. All would follow. It was a pattern I'd been forced to accept. I had to welcome the unwelcomed, because for now, this was my brother. For every struggle of mine, his were tenfold. I would adapt until he was able to. Whatever Cal needed me to be, I would be. Whichever way the wind pushed us, I'd push back.

Maybe we were like the song after all.

I looked down to see that Cal had looped the loose thread around his finger several times and was currently in a quiet battle to remove it. The easy breathing rhythm breaking a beat as this thin piece of fabric threatened panic into Cal's current calm. I reached in and set a hand on the back of his. "Cal. Stop." He did. Without a second's hesitation, and let me unwind the thread, then pull it free of the jacket. My hand returned to the back of his to stay there, my fingers securing a snug clasp.

"Song's over," Cal then noted quietly. The rising panic stemming from the rogue thread now vanished.

An Eagles song came next, but I was so focused on my brother I didn't bother to recall which song it was. But like the previous, it was simple and easy.

Early morning melded to late morning before I finally gave in. As much as I needed to stay awake, for Cal, I just couldn't. I felt myself nodding off, my face falling onto the top of Cal's hair. I caught it several times before it finally stayed down. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't manage back to a completely upright position. My eyes were like steel curtains slamming shut over and over again. I was going to let my brother down by failing to protect him when I needed to. Couldn't stay awake…

Then Cal's voice, muffled and hushed, and from the general area of my chest…"Sleep, Nik." He knew. Even in his unhealthy state of mind, he knew I was falling. "S'okay to sleep. I'll watch."

More words in a row than I'd heard from him since he'd come back. And it was okay then, right? That I sleep? That I rest?

But if they came…

My arms tightened around my brother. One last circle of safety before I gave into human needs.

The Eagles song playing in the background. My little brother - my only family - secured in my arms. Here, in the middle of wherever, scared out our minds, in the bowels of an old car with only a few knives to protect us…

We slept.

And Cal was okay and safe and…he was here…when I woke. With me. Still. Not taken. I'd slept and he was here. I hadn't let him down.

A familiar song was on the radio. Again.

"Nik?"

Cal's saying of my name startled me slightly. I looked down.

"Here, Cal."

"Song."

"It's playing again, huh?"

The slight shoulders shrugged. Conversation done and slowly and finally he pushed to lift away from me. Dark hair mashed on the right side, eyes sluggish and rimmed red. Cal looked like he'd been run over by a truck.

If only his trauma had been so…simple.

Moving away from me, he found a spot against the window to curl up and deal. I could see the change in him already. The battles with his mind continuing. Anger bubbling to a slow boil.

This day would be a long day.

I notched up the volume on the Seger song, started the car and began our next journey to who knew where, where we'd find who knew what. If we could get a few grendel free weeks in a row, Cal would have a chance to do better. So I drove. Drove until my eyes blurred in front of me. A city. Somewhere in Louisiana. It was warm. Cal needed warm. We would stay here until we could no longer do so. Until the Grendel found us. Then we'd go. We'd run again. We'd run as long as we had to in order to keep Cal safe.

We were up against it. There was no way around that fact. Nothing had ever been or would ever be easy for Cal and me. And I keep thinking back to that damn song that keeps following us around. It found the radio yet again as I pulled into a motel parking lot in Shreveport. It was a persistent as the Grendel.

I put the car in park and turned to my brother, sitting quietly and seemingly lost in his own mind.

"Come on, Cal. This will be home for a while."

"Listening."

"Yes, to me. Let's get inside."

As I reached to turn the key off, Cal's hand landed softly on my arm. It was unlike Cal to actually reach out on his own, it was usually me reaching for him, so I was confused for a moment, if not a tad encouraged.

"Listening, Nik."

Ah, the song. That's what his listening comment had meant the first time. Of course.

"You're attached to it too, huh?"

"Calm."

"Calming. I knew if you just gave 70's music a chance…"

Cal met my eyes. Before…he would have wise-cracked his way through this conversation. And I never would have imagined how much I'd miss that smart-ass mouth of his. Now though…now he just starred. But I knew…_I hoped_…that somewhere deep within, the old Cal still functioned. That smart-mouthed little brother that I loved more than anything in the world. I'd find him. Eventually, I'd find him. There was simply no other option.

Patting the hand that still set on my arm, I left the key alone and sat back to let the song ride out.

The song ended. Cal was silent for a few beats before finally, "Home, Nik?"

The motel in front of us, Cal wasn't looking there. He was locked into my eyes once more. Gray to gray. Brother to brother. The question directed at me, not the motel. That place wasn't home. I was.

"Yeah, little brother." I said fondly, "You're home."

* * *

><p>End<p> 


End file.
